Athean
by Riley G
Summary: The survivors of Poseidon come to what could be a fatal conclusion.
1. Proposal

And so it was, the horrors of a vacation gone under, with the terrors tainted in their innocent minds, blinded by death and screams. For their hopes had been destroyed so soon in the events, while through the endeavor they learned fending for one's self could be the cause of a major death. Yet in the process it could be sticking together blossoms a survival, only to depend on one person's bravery to risk his or her life. A father gone, leaving a tormented daughter distraught in the realization of never seeing the man again. If she had not protested with Christian's quick choice of fate to undertake the dare of stopping the propeller, her father would not have gone off to do so while the boy cooed the frightened dear. Nothing from the past mattered any longer, for it had been so, the future could do nothing to change what had happened. The few survivors— Dylan Johns: oh, without him every single one of them would have perished. He had truly been the leader, and if it not for him, the woman thought back and realized she would have been dead long before the disaster became worse; Maggie James, with her precious son, Conor, both tenacious and brave in what way such a young child had lived along with a few other adults, with her mother who never let her hope die; Richard Nelson, so elderly and fragile, yet able to pull through with the tasks of escaping; her dear fiancé, Christian only for he she truly attempted to live. He was strong in what way he kept her alive; and Jennifer Ramsey herself. Delicate in profiles, yet a disposition of a Queen: Brave, strong, loyal, and buoyant—only few of those to live from the tsunami. Others had indeed, yet the entourage had no idea.

It was only a few months while the next proposal came to be: to proceed once more onto the haunting decks of a ship, embarking on a simple but dangerous quest once more to diminish the omnipresent fears that stained their hearts. Because of these phobias, the miniscule idea traveled from young Christian's head and emerged from his mouth no more than a few days after being rescued. The surviving five—without Nelson, who made his own way—had decided to reside together, to keep the peace and comfort one another until the feelings passed into nothing but memories; when they could no longer feel the cold water on their skin every day; when they could no longer shed any more tears for those lost, and the bodies of those lost that they held. There was little time they spent alone. It was a quiet day when Christian thought it up and spoke it freely out to the others. The plan was elaborate for the minds of those simplified by the past events, but in reality it was very mediocre.

Jennifer recalled that his exact words were, "There's only one way to get rid of our fears of boats and oceans now. We go on another cruise." The blank and apprehensive stares alike were all averted toward him in undivided attention. "There's one coming up in April—it's perfect. We go on a boat, nothing happens, our fears are lifted." It was bold and strange, but Dylan had to admire the bravery of even bringing up the suggestion. Agreeing with the execution of the plan, he amended his ways and decided to join the man. It took Maggie a little while longer, having to make the choice for both her and her son. Conor, still small and naïve couldn't see why they would try to take the chance again, or that tsunamis happened very seldom. Weak and willing to do anything to cure their "disease," (of which Dylan had named "irrational fears" after a while of being irritated with Maggie's whining and griping about the proposal to begin with) she also joined the group going on the trip. The hardest to persuade: Jennifer. Though she saw the point of view coming from her fiancé, she had lost the greatest deal and amount a young woman should never encounter. The loss of a mentor—whether or not he had been as patronizing as she said; perhaps it was because she was his only child left, and that had to be worth something—, a guide, and a father would forever plague her. She wasn't convinced that Chris's idea was the only way to "cure" the severity of her "disease."

Four months' time was a long while, though, and eventually, the trip was booked. There was an extra ticket for Jennifer, of which she accepted once she realized that she would be home by herself while the rest of them were on the boat. _If something is to happen,_ she figured, _I don't want to be the one not there while the rest of them suffer. And I can't stand to be alone anymore. _"Chris, I'm coming," she announced softly to him a week before their departure.

And a tense departure it was. The gentle Ramsey never thought that her hands could be so clammy, her throat so closed and dry, body so violently trembling. "Chris, I'm scared," she whispered raggedly to him, looking up with her chocolate eyes to his pale blue ones. Her body was pressed firmly against his side, holding on tightly to his arm. Christian felt himself stiffen and his rubbed his legs together. Purposely, he cupped his hand around her side.

"I know, Jen. I know." His stomach churned. "But we'll be all right. Don't worry, okay? I'm here."

"We're all here," interjected Dylan, coming to the side of the young ones. "For each other. Come on. They're boarding." His gaze evasive of the ocean surrounding him, he decided to fix his eyes on Maggie. That slender, figured woman a little larger than Jennifer. She clutched Conor tightly to her breast, the boy's face buried in her shoulder.

And then they boarded _Athean_.


	2. Worries

"Relax, Jennifer. Nothing is going to happen." He was surprised at his sudden tranquility. Standing, he grasped her by the shoulders and lightly shook her. "Stop." Having been pacing, Jennifer caught her breath and stared up at him without any words. "Jen, I know you're uptight about this. But it's good—it will help you get over your fears. All of our fears. Your father would be proud of you. He always knew you were strong. That's why you made it off in the first place." He bestowed a kiss on her forehead and she put her head on his chest. He folded his strong, secure arms around her tightly, holding her close to ensure that nothing would happen to her. "I know, what I'm saying isn't right. It probably never will be. We're trying as hard as we can. I am, at least. For you." He knew no words of wisdom would ever erase the pain she'd eternally feel from the loss of her loved one, but his endeavors would be forever pursuing.

Refusing to cry, Jennifer held her breath for a long time—most of the time she was held onto by Christian—until she realized that no oxygen was coming to her lungs, and she let the air out in one large breath before regulating her breathing again. "This is a new ship, new times, new water," he went on, bringing her face into his palms. "It's all going to be different now. Trust me."

_Maybe, Chris. Maybe not._

"I'm…going to go get ready for tonight," she mumbled with a dismissive air. Wrenching herself from Christian's hands, she put a hand on his chest as a wordless gesture to stay when his arms chased after her, for precautions, she figured. As he allowed her, she took a meek step backward, and the made for the staircase. She cantered up them and went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her all in one fluid movement. Upon entering one thing stared her straight back in the face and nearly toppled her over: her reflection. The tall, full length mirror that conveyed only what she had to offer, just as good or as ugly as it was and could be. A spitting image of her father. She crumpled downward, keeping herself on her toes but resting her backside on her heels, at first ashamed and averting her eyes down to the floor before having the bravery to come face to face with the thing she knew she could not change. She examined herself. Carefully. Especially when she stood. Lovely auburn curls cascaded down her shoulders, shaping her face as a few ringlets hung in front of her eyes before she pushed them aside. Jennifer possessed fair facial attributes: a pair of chocolate eyes, rosy cheeks, and soft pink lips. Her shoulders were broad but tiny, an average figure and seemly legs and bottom. "Oh, God, Dad…" she cried, her eyes welling with the water she knew tasted exactly like what she was floating atop of, and it made her sick to her stomach.

It wasn't something she needed to work herself up over. Quietly, swiftly, she removed her blouse, skirt, and stockings, once again giving the occasional glance in the mirror to see if something, somehow, had changed in the few moments that had passed. Ridiculous, she knew, to do such a thing, but a part of her wished something could change so instantaneously. Whether for good or for bad, she needed something to change. Her stomach cramped at the thought of being something different, and her heart fluttered at the contrary thought. She decided to remain the same if she could do anything about it, unless something came up that she could not control. She took her father for example: a great change, thought something she was powerless against. That sort of change, she knew she could not bear again.

How long had she been in there? Ten minutes, she declared to herself, more than half of that time spent clad only in undergarments staring in the glass. It was unbearable to continue. She dressed.

* * *

On the other hand, and only a door down from the other couple's suite, the James woman and her delicate son laid strewn about the cabin floor, playing a sort of game that involved a deck of cards and four marbles: something Conor had invented in spur of the moment to keep himself from dying of boredom. His mother had evidently been under a great deal of stress and uneasiness, that he could easily detect, and he wanted to show her someway to get her mind off of the horrid things that had happened to them; that they could have fun again, although he knew in his heart that the memories would never leave either of them. Genius, he sought the idea of something else to entertain them, for his mother seemed to be drifting off in her daydreams again—it was either that, or he was so lacking of amusement that she was falling asleep.

"If you don't want to play anymore, Mom, just say so." At this comment, he saw her pick her head up and glance at him, seeing that he'd laid down the Ace of Spades and a blue marble. She murmured something under her breath along the lines of, "You beat me," and then gave a weak, faked smile. "Mom," he said in monotone, cleaning up their game, "you're terrible at that."

It was then that she sighed and actually woke herself up, combing her slender fingers through her unruly strands of dark hair. "Sorry, sweetheart. I guess I let my mind wander. Do you want to play something else?"

"No." It was useless. Conor could see that nothing was going to take her mind off of the past events that he wanted her to just let go of. Otherwise, this trip would be no fun—and he knew as a young boy that he wanted to have his fun. "Maybe you should take a nap, Mommy. That way we can be rested for tonight's party!" He said this with enlarged enthusiasm, to possibly bring up their spirits and her willingness to go on. It was a blur what Maggie thought of him, though he was almost desperate to know. Perhaps that could solve some of their misunderstandings. Of course they were all—_all_ of them—frightened and wary, but they also were all aware that the rogue wave was something that occurred maybe once if not at all in a lifetime. That was that—they were through with their horrors.

"Thank you, Conor. I think I will."

* * *

Dylan was having the worst goddam time getting his tie on. He hated the stupid things, especially when it came to flipping one side over the other. Why couldn't the inventor make something that was easy to put on one's self? He grunted and sighed in frustration, asking himself the same question over and over until he gave up and resorting to letting the two ends hang down in front of his shoulders, saying that he'd come back to it later when his fingers weren't aching. The boat wasn't the thing that scared _him_, he would admit that much. But there were some things that did give him a little jolt once in a while. Like Maggie. Just locking his eyes on her for more than a minute and a half gave him a cramp in his groin. And Jennifer—how lucky that lad Christian was. And the occasional happenstance that he'd see a beautiful girl once or twice jogging past him as he went on his morning runs. Other than that, he kept his alarm at relative bay, showing no fear for the ocean or whatever it could spew out at him. He was the most knowledgeable—and he knew it—on meteorology and what could possibly occur or not while out on a boat, and he knew for certain that they would be perfectly safe; unharmed by another rogue wave. It was just completely out the question, and rather ridiculous, in his mind, for the others to be panicking so.

He wasn't so sure about going to the party tonight. It was the opening of the ship, but would it bring back memories? He feared so, and it was very plausible. He wondered if he should stay in the comfort of his suite, alone, sitting on the couch with a bottle of cold beer in his right hand and the remote control in the other, while gazing off into the midnight blue sky, watching the rolling waves lap against the sides of the cruise ocean liner. And what an ideal night that would be. But, oh, then, not to see Maggie, probably in a floor length dress that clung so tightly to her shapely body while Conor hid timidly behind her skirt, holding onto her soft, tender hand. His heart skipped a beat, and he decided to get back to his tie.

Dressed in a white shirt, black slacks, and a black tailed suit for good measure, he couldn't understand why the only thing that was so difficult was the smallest of accessories for men: that blasted cloth bound around his neck. He couldn't take it anymore when he finally got it and pulled it up to his collar. "There," he sighed in satisfaction and relief, dropping his hands to his sides. "Maggie, here I come."

* * *

_The Party_

What a night it was to be! And only with Chris. How Jennifer found herself anticipating the timely hour to arrive. Quickly, she gave a last check in the bedroom, skimming her hands over her belly, dressed in no more than jeans, a royal blue sweater that, so consequentially, was cut off of her shoulders, and flat shoes. He hoped Chris was impressed. She met up with her polo-attired fiancé at the front of the room, and the couple swiveled eagerly downstairs. Together they decided to dine elegantly upstairs with the waiters and glasses of champagne for the grand opening, and then head back down to the dance floor where they hoped to have a much better time than last they stepped foot in one of those.

Holding onto his hand, she capered with his fingers with her own. Chris was observant enough to notice her flushed cheeks. "Are you feeling all right, Jen?" he inquired. "You look pale." She assured him that she was; that it was just the nerves of being on a boat again, and that his reassurance before had helped her calm down, and this was just the aftermath of the panics. And not _all_ of it was a lie.

It was only seven in the evening. They had a lot of time to have their fun.


	3. Beginnings

This wasn't going to be the same, no matter what Chris told her. There was no father to tell her to fold up one more button on her blouse. There was no father to make sure she was all right when she was sweaty from dancing. There was no father to patronize her, despite how she complained about it frequently. There was just her, and Chris. As she'd wanted it in the beginning, but only now did she realize how wrong she'd been.

They walked down the stairs to the disco, ignoring her protests to stay upstairs. Going down here would just bring back memories. But Chris had bombarded her with some convincing words, like could she, please, just do this for him? and would she try to have a good time? and he would be right by her side; and promise if you're feeling unwell to tell him so he could bring her upstairs? Even as she abided to these requests, she wasn't sure she was really ready for this yet.

Christian had a supportive hand on the small of Jennifer's back, leading her down the stairs to the disco. It wasn't a gesture so much as to hold her back as it was just there to tell her that he would back her up on whatever decision she made, or whatever emotions she was feeling. He, too, was overwhelmed by his situation, but he refused to let it outwardly show. Jennifer needed him throughout this entire trip; he wasn't about to fall apart. For her sake.

A very hasty, "Oh, I'm sorry," (or at least that's what Jennifer thought she heard) was given as she felt a harsh bump to her shoulder. About to turn and return a quick consolation, she was stopped, meeting eyes with a woman who looked only maybe a few years older than her. The woman smiled.

"Gosh, I apologize for staring," she said with a bashful chuckle, shaking her head. "It's just...you're Jennifer, aren't you? Jennifer Ramsey, the survivor of the Poseidon."

Taken aback, Jen clung to Chris's hand. Her fiancé quickly took notice to the woman. "Yes," she answered primly. She liked the woman's British accent.

"And your fiancé, I assume? Nice to meet you." They exchanged handshakes. "Sorry about all of this. I saw you on the news in London a few months ago--horrible accident, that was. Glad you're all right, though."

Chris chimed in. "Thank you."

"Ready, love?" Another British inflection interrupted Jennifer's trance as a man with dark hair and an arm supporting a young child, maybe only a year old. She smiled at the baby, who smiled back, hiding her face coyly in her father's shoulder. Noticing that his wife had company, the Brit turned to the engaged couple. "Ello. Who might you be?"

"Kent," she addressed her husband, "this is Christian and Jennifer. They were on the Poseidon last year. Remember, we heard about it on our holiday to London?"

Coming to his own realization, Kent sent his chin upward, shaking hands with Chris and Jen. "Oh, yeah. Bloody hell, must've been quite a scare."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Jennifer nodded curtly.

Again, as if she was still flustered for coming up to them so bluntly, Kent's wife shook her head, a blush stretching to her ears. "Look at me. Forgetting my manners. I'm Jane, this is Kent, my husband. The shy little one is Liadan." She nipped the baby's chin with two fingers. "But we call her Danny."

Chris grinned, staring at the little girl's cinnamon curls. He waved at her and saw her try to tug back a grin. He chuckled, grabbing Jen's attention.

"Wondering--and I'm just having a thought, here," Jane piped up once more, "do you think you could help us find our way to the dining hall? We seem to have..."

"...Lost our way some time ago, trying to read the maps," Kent cut in with a scoff.

Using this as an excuse to not go into the disco (the thought made Jennifer shiver; so many memories...), she nodded eagerly, already ushering the family up the stairs again.

"Yes, of course. We'd be happy to."

"Jen?" Chris called from behind her, trailing her steps closely.

Giving him a look, she hurriedly planted a kiss on his lips. "Maybe later, okay?"

---

The nap had definitely rejuvenated her, but she wasn't quite sure this was the best idea. At least she was with Dylan, and Connor had let her know that he was just as nervous as she was, despite his bright and cheery disposition back in the suite. Maggie had a feeling no one was really comfortable with this trip--no one who had seen the horrid realities of what could go wrong, anyway.

_No,_ she continuously had to remind herself. _That will not happen again. It was an extremely rare occurrence. Never happen again. Never again. Connor is safe, you're safe, that's a girl. Dylan's here, too. Just relax._

Taking in even, deep inhale-exhales, her eyes scanned the dining room. The threesome was perched at the top of one of the staircases overlooking the scene. People eating, drinking, playing poker, the musicians on the stage. Why did it all look so familiar...?

The haunting thought was that the ship--Poseidon, the ship that her feet had once treaded upon; the ship that she had once struggled to escape as it slowly sunk to its doom; the ship that her boy had barely made it out of alive--was right beneath her, sunk to the depths, forgotten, abandoned, a graveyard. Bodies, so many of them, still here. Decaying. Rotting. Even Robert Ramsey, Jennifer's father. She shuddered, and her stomach turned. She felt Dylan's eyes immediately on her as she pitched over, a hand on her midsection.

"Maggie?"

"Mommy?"

Shaking her head, she stood upright once more, taking a deep breath, letting the sudden rush of heat leave her face. She felt herself choke on her bile for a minute before she swallowed, allowing herself to recollect.

"I'm fine," she assured them with a sigh.

Still holding her hand, Connor kept his eyes steadily on his mother. Dylan glanced back to the dining floor, seemingly distracted. He didn't look like he was really thinking about anything. Like his brain was absent; in a different place. Maybe he was doing that on purpose, so he wouldn't _have_ to remember?

Drawing a hand over her son's hair, Maggie gave a reassuring smile down to him. This night was about making Connor happy; making Connor forget. He'd live the rest of his life, remembering that torment, that horror. She didn't want that for him.


	4. Realizations

It was a relatively calm night. The sky was clear, and the moon had taken the place of the sun hours ago. Stars sprinkled the black velvet that stretched over them for infinity. Standing in the back of the room, his jacket adorned with countless medals, the former Marine bore his hat proudly, his hands folded behind him, as he observed his crew work in the front control room. His face was solemn, which usually meant that the night was going smoothly. At least, there was nothing to get excited about; nothing to ruffle his feathers. Nelson's eyes were trained on the large glass window stretching around half of the room--or, rather, through it. The tranquility of the ocean below set him at peace. The background noise of the rapid _clicks_ of the keyboards his workers were using helped even out the mood. Needless to say, he was happy.

One of the workers directly in front of him turned in his chair. "Sir? Have a look at this."

Nelson checked his watch. Whatever it was, it would have to wait. Nothing would mar tonight. "Not now, Williams. I have to get to the dining floor."

---

For once, he didn't feel like gambling. His mind wasn't in the right way--he was overly cautious, paranoid, even, as much as he didn't want to admit it. He had to be strong, for Maggie. It was all too clear she was shaking in her skin as it was. Just standing--standing in the middle of the dining floor, watching. Staring blankly. Doing nothing. Waiting. Waiting, as if something unexpected was going to happen.

But even in those circumstances--even when one could continue to be fully braced and ready for whatever they didn't anticipate would happen to them, but they knew something _might;_ (on the _off chance)_ might happen--they were never prepared for what was actually coming. Dylan, the hero, was no exception. Even though he remained vigilant and alert, he knew that if something came, he wouldn't be nearly as ready as he thought he'd been.

So what was the use, then? Why not enjoy his time here? Why not bet his savings on a game of poker? Why not throw his money away on a deck of cards, a whiskey, and a cigarette? The more he thought about it, the more wonderful that began to sound. A smoke. Sounded very nice.

Just as he felt his muscles relaxing: his shoulders dropped, spine stopped aching, and his thighs released, he realized he shouldn't have put his guard down. Something about being so nonchalant and free about the night didn't settle well with him. He felt like he _had_ to be tense--otherwise, who else would be there to watch in case something did...

He had to stop thinking like that. It was only going to drive him insane. Shaking his head, blinking his eyes feverishly, as if that was going to reset his brain, he gave himself something to do; something to concentrate on, so he didn't have to think about being nervous. Dylan set off to find Maggie and Connor.

Taking in a ragged breath, he kept his hands firmly at his sides. Maybe this was a bad idea, coming on this ship. _No, Dylan, quit it. Where's Mag and Connor? Thought I saw them this way..._

Making a sharp turn and releasing the air he only now realized he'd been holding (actually, that was what was causing the knot in his chest), he was able to put on a mannequin smile for the two people he'd been looking for.

"Having too much fun without me, I see," he remarked, coming up behind Connor and ruffling the boy's hair. To his pleasure, Maggie smiled up at him, too. The boy giggled. "You guys up for something to eat? I'm starved." In actuality, he was bored, and looking for something to distract him. Eating would suffice, right?

But Connor shook his head, to Dylan's dismay. "Mom said I could go up on the balcony up there to watch everybody when they cut the ribbon." His minute finger pointed to the big, red ribbon across the stage that the captain was going to cut at the "unveiling" of the ship. It was one of the reasons Dylan wanted to get a drink. Sure, it was the grand opening, but did it have to be such a big spectacle?

Still, he didn't want to put a damper on the boy's excitement. Offering a grin, he jutted his chin out gently. "Okay, buddy. You should head up there now. Looks like they're going to start soon," he added with a glance to the side, watching a man in a Marines hat and jacket go up on the stage, the Captain. "And it's almost midnight."

With a smile that frequently melted Dylan's heart, Connor scampered off to the staircases.

Maggie tried to tug back the grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Sure you're okay?"

"Hey, don't worry about me," he murmured casually, tossing his hand, smirking.

Giving him the once-over, Maggie nodded, as if accepting his evasive answer. Idly, her hand reached for his, and she played with his fingers. She murmured, "Okay, Superman."

It was the spinning red light above their heads and sickening siren that made his stomach flip.

---

They climbed the last step to get up to the right level. Chris still had a fast hold on Jennifer's hand, and had no intention of letting go. In fact, they both looked like they could be sent into a spiral at any given point in time. They were both trying to support each other with their own "toughness," but in that, they both knew that they were weaker than they'd ever been before. Each of them had their own worries, however ridiculous they may have seemed. Chris admired how calm she appeared, how strong she remained. Jennifer could get through so much he couldn't; he knew he couldn't. And even as she portrayed her strength, he knew she had a heart of gold. Gentle, kind, caring. He couldn't help but think that she'd make a wonderful mother some day.

The thought made him smile.

_You'll make one fine mother, sweet Jennifer,_ he thought to himself.

As if she heard his mind, her face turned to him and returned the grin on his face. As if it put her at ease, she leaned in to share a kiss with him. "Come on, PG please?" she teased him, keeping her face close enough for their noses to touch. "There's a baby in the vicinity."

"All right, nothing too raunchy," he abided with a scoff. "But I get to kiss my fiancée, don't I?" He loved hearing her laugh--so warm, soothing, musical. His face suddenly took a serious turn, expression level. "Hey Jen, speaking of babies..."

"Hmm?" She matched his volume, keeping their voices low while the British couple to the side of them filed into the dining hall after thanking them. "What about them?"

Was this the best time to discuss this kind of thing? This was a topic most couples had trouble with--one of the two: marriage, and babies.

Licking his lips, Chris laid his hands on her waist, feeling her hands on his arms. "What's up, Christian?" she encouraged gently, pressing their lips together softly, only for a moment, as if to prompt him; as if to make sure he was comfortable with telling her this. Chris knew he could confide in her.

"Well," he began steadily, "I was just wondering...what you think...well, what you think about. Having children."

He didn't like the silence that came between them just then, but he did kind of expect her to be thinking about her answer. At least that was a good sign...right? Hopefully. Interrupting his own thoughts, he waited for her to respond. Respond in any way. An expression, a movement, a phrase.

Then that unmistakable smile came over Jen's beautiful face. "Danny kind of reminded you, huh?"

"Come on, Jen. I...you know I want to be a dad."

She laughed a little to herself, bowing her head. But it was a happy, short little outburst. Like she was taken by surprise, maybe? "I'd love to. You know that, too."

It'd been a long time since Christian had seen her smile like that.

Wait--had she said she wanted to? Well, that had been easy. Nothing was turned into a banter with Jennifer when it came to things between them, most of the time. And this...it wasn't made into a petty argument or play with each other's emotions. In the end, they both wanted each other to be happy. He tried not to laugh at himself. God, he loved her so much.

Bringing her up in his arms, he brought his wife-to-be (Jesus, he loved saying that, but he wanted to be married to her already) into a passionate kiss, never letting go.

Until he heard the siren.

They looked at each other, both of their faces fallen. He saw the pure fear in Jennifer's eyes. The knowing. The expectancy. Their heads snapped to the window directly to their left, and they saw the horror of the recurrence.

He heard Jennifer breathe out the word. "No."


End file.
